


Snapshots from the Mojave

by insominia



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:52:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: Tiny glimpses into one bad day in the Mojave





	

Inside the workroom Mick checked over the latest shipment _again_ , locking the case for at least the third time that evening.

 

He forced himself to go into the shop, unable to prevent the frown that formed when he saw the time on the clock.

 

From the counter corner Ralph saw and asked, quietly, "the Omertas haven't come, again?" Mick's jaw was tight, he didn't need to give the obvious answer. But Ralph was smiling, reassuringly, "don't worry about it. We'll be ok, buddy."

 

Mick couldn't find it within himself to smile back.

 

\---

 

Chief Hanlon's eyes widened and narrowed appropriately, as he read over the latest reports. The desk sergeant was handing over the papers slowly, as though she could change their contents by delaying them. But each page read the same story: undermanned, under equipped, under supplied, under fed men all struggling to do even the most basic of jobs.

 

Unintentionally his eyes darted towards the latest despatches from California, _and there were more on the way..._

 

He waved the desk sergeant away. She was happy to go, leaving the remaining sheets in a pile on the edge of his desk. He didn't need to read them to know it would read the same as every report for the last week, the last month.

 

Hanlon waited until the sergeant was safely out of ear shot and quietly turned on the HAM radio. With frequent, furtive glances towards the door, he made his report.

 

\---

 

An accusation.

 

A shout.

 

A gun shot.

 

Bleep.

 

Bleep.

 

Bleep bleep bleep _bleep_!

 

A small explosion.

 

From a rooftop, high in the Residential District, Dean Domino took a long, healthy drag of his cigarette. He'd known this lot wouldn't last long.

 

\---

 

A light breeze blew a gentle stream of sandy dust across the path. Joshua Graham knew he was being followed. He had been since he had left the camp. This one was particularly inept to have revealed his presence so obviously, and so early.

 

Graham knelt down; ostensibly to examine a datura flower. Then his .45 was out, and spinning on his knee, regardless of the pain, he let off a shot.

 

He did not see where the Legionary fell, nor did he have the inclination to look.

 

\---

 

"I wish you wouldn't go."

"He was my best friend, Christine, I'm going."

"But, your C.O-"

"I don't give a damn about that. I'm not leaving him out there so those damned junkies can use him as bait. I'm going, and I'm going to bring Esteban home and we can bury him properly."

 

\---

 

A bed creaked and was then still as Mr New Vegas, immediately awake as soon as his eyes opened, sat up and rose. Without thought or consideration, he picked up his fedora with his left hand and a bottle of sipping whisky with his right.

 

His footsteps echoing down the open stairs did nothing to stir the shack's other occupant - his daughter, currently stretched out on a ruined sofa near the desk; a hunting rifle never too far from her reach. He paused at the sight of her and smiled, he'd told her she couldn't pull a second all nighter.

 

From his desk came the muted tones of Sinatra. At least she'd had the wherewithal to loop the broadcast before she'd crashed out.

 

Dropping into the heavily upholstered chair, he started leafing through the fresh notes that awaited him. Caravan must have come through in the night. He took another sip of the burning whisky, his eyes still bleary from his swift awakening and forced the words to make sense. But the news was grim, as it always was.

 

NCR deployment, NCR failings, NCR tensions. And that was just the NCR. Nothing new from Nelson, the Legion still held that then and - his eyes scanned the page - _Lanius_. That was all they needed.

 

Another sip of whisky, a sigh and he lifted the rim of the fedora from his eyes. He had cleared his throat and was about to flick the switch when he saw something at the bottom of the page. It wasn't much, hell, it was hardly anything, but it was the first piece of good news they'd had in a long, long while. He allowed himself to smile for a moment, maybe the Mojave's luck was changing.

 

His pre recorded voice announced a story for his no doubt rapt listeners and with a practised flick, Mr New Vegas switched on the mic, speaking smoothly as though he had been talking all along.

 

_"A package courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings..."_

 


End file.
